Wednesday, 29 March 2017

RENT

Curve, Leicester

28th March 2017

I’ve been a fan of RENT for a long time. For myself and, I
imagine, many others, it’s a sort of ‘rites of passage’ show, introducing the
teenage me/us to a world of more grown up, and serious musical theatre. I’ve practically
worn out my DVD of the final Broadway performance. So it was thrilling to
finally see a fully mounted professional production here in the UK in the shape
of Bruce Guthrie’s tour, marking the 20th Anniversary of the
musical’s premier, and the untimely death of writer Jonathan Larson, just one
day before the first performance. Some may express concern over the impact
Larson’s death had on the legacy of RENT;
do people sentimentalise it? is it an example of posthumous acclaim that may
have been more muted had he lived? – My answer to this is ‘no way!’, RENT has proved so popular because of
the precocious, yet enduring way it promotes racial and sexual diversity
(something which is, shamefully, yet to be equalled in 21st Century theatre),
and its themes regarding difference, acceptance and creation. But most of all,
in a world where ‘living in America at the end of the millennium, you’re what
you own’, Larson instead highlights the vitality of Life and the gift that is
Love.

Loosely based on Puccini’s La Bohème, RENT essentially charts a year in the
life of a group of friends living in New York’s Bohemian Alphabet City as they
struggle with love, art, poverty, drug addiction, and disease – all captured on
camera by filmmaker, Mark (Billy Cullum). While catchy songs such as ‘La Vie
Boheme’, ‘Seasons Of Love’ and ‘Take Me Or Leave Me’ (which, incidentally, I
would absolutely savage if RENT Karaoke
was a thing…) are the big crowd pleasers, for me it’s the more understated
songs that resonate. The frankness of ‘Life Support’ – ‘Reason says I should
have died three years ago’ – and the introspective ‘Will I’ – ‘Will I lose my
dignity? Will someone care?’ – expresses all the mental and physical anguish of
living with HIV/AIDS.

Similarly, ‘On The Street’ brings
to light the harshness of homelessness (concentrated further by the poignant
contrast with the Christmas setting, the pinnacle of familial intimacy) – ‘No
room at the Holiday Inn, oh no. And it’s beginning to snow’. Jenny O’Leary in
particular makes an impact as a homeless woman, draped in a tattered American
flag, who berates Mark, ‘My life’s not for you to make a name for yourself
on!’, a line which perfectly summarises the tension between liberal art and
liberal guilt – pertinent still in this age of debating the ethics of so-called
‘poverty porn’. Larson doesn’t create a one-dimensional, rose tinted portrayal
of liberal creatives, he points out the contradictions and downfalls of ‘living
for your art’, as the woman says, ‘This lot is full of motherfucking artists…
You gotta dollar?... I thought not’. Just as liberal guilt gets a going over,
Mark’s sensitive lament, ‘Halloween’, illuminates the problem for many people
living during the AIDS epidemic, that of survivors guilt – ‘Why am I the
witness?’. It is a credit to Larson’s skill that these lyrics (sorry for the
abundance of quotes, but they really speak for themselves) perfectly capture a
certain time and place, yet have completely stood the test of time. And coupled
with the rocking anthems of the big set pieces, he really did create a musical
masterpiece.

Changes for this production
include a greater emphasis on choreography. Lee Proud enlivens ‘Tango: Maureen’
with bold staccato moves, and ‘On The Street’ features what I can only term
‘trolleyography’ (my apologies). I also ‘enjoyed’ (that is entirely the wrong
word) the greater emphasis on the physical manifestation of Angel’s (Layton
Williams) suffering. It’s crushing to see one so previously optimistic now
frail and legion-spotted, Williams seemed to actually shrink as he’s carried,
child-like by the steadfast Collins (Ryan O’Gorman) to his hospital bed. The
medical, feverish spin on ‘Contact’ gives the scene an extra dimension as the
pulsations of Angel’s waning heartbeat echo the beats of the rave music. A
touching addition occurs when Collins gives his coat to Mimi (Philippa Stefani)
during the final, the same coat stolen from him at the beginning and later
recovered by Angel. It’s a lovely way to bring the narrative full circle – the
coat being a motif of care, love and solidarity throughout.

Amongst the stellar cast,
Williams, O’Gorman and Stefani truly excel. Williams is a very sweet yet feline
Angel, and his backflips (in five inch heels, no less!) rightly issue a rapturous
response, while O’Gorman is a mature and grounded Collins, his voice rich and
deeply emotive. Stefani is utterly refreshing as the tragic, addicted Mimi, her
shivers are palpable, her vulnerability blatant as she sways precariously
during ‘Light My Candle’. While I am pretty much guaranteed to weep during Collins’ reprise of ‘I’ll Cover You’, in
this instance Stefani elicited yet more tears from my normally bone-dry eyes
during her tender renditions of ‘Without You’ and ‘Goodbye Love’. The cracking
of her voice was almost too much for my already bruised heart to bear. I must
also mention Lucie Jones in what seems like a breakout role (a far cry from
Elle Woods and the naïve Cosette), her Maureen is brilliantly eccentric and
insolent; she is infuriating and endearing all at once – a difficult task to
achieve! To top off an altogether excellent production, Anna Fleischel is fast
becoming one of my favourite set designers. More mobile than the Broadway
original, the huge industrial framework spins about and evolves into bridges,
staircases and tiny studio apartments.

Guthrie’s production is everything
I want from RENT and more, he stays
faithful to the original production which has seared its way into many a heart
and mind, while inserting just enough twists to ensure the musical remains
fresh. It’s a crying shame that Larson isn’t around to see the profound
influence his work has had over the last 20 years, but the world of musical
theatre will remain ever grateful for his progressive artistic insight and
undeniable talent.